


Predators

by Markovia



Category: Durarara!!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Blood, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Fighting, Heroes, Injury Recovery, M/M, Quirks, Sex, Smut, Some Durarara cast have Quirks, Superpowers, Villains, Violence, Yakuza, canon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: The informant, the woman, the monster and the fallen Yakuza boss - the city of Ikebukuro is about to turn upside down.





	1. Perseverance

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, I've been so excited to get this started. Two of my favourite fandoms smushed together in a big beautiful mess. It'll be a long one, so buckle in for the ride! Quite villain centric.

“He should be here soon.”

 

Chisaki nods at the woman as she walks past him to her desk. He’s situated on a sofa not too far from her so watches her closely as she sets her cup of coffee on the surface and settles down behind the computer. She’s a beautiful creature, all legs and long hair, just his type. There’s something off-putting about the sour look on her face though, like she’s smiled a day in her life. Not that he cares if people smile or not, in fact he’d prefer it if they hid their filthy mouths behind masks similar to the one currently covering the lower half of his face. It’s a simple, flat black piece of material, far from the ornate beak-like adornment he wore as Overhaul. The thought of that name makes him twitch and he has to swallow down the sudden rush of fury before the woman notices. 

 

It seems like such a long time ago now, the Eight Precepts, Eri, those  _ damn  _ ‘heroes’ and- Chisaki doesn’t allow his mind to linger on the cracked, sickly face of the man who stole everything from him. The glory, the cure for all the disease plaguing the streets, his Quirk, his  _ arms.  _ It would have been his life were it not for the swift arrival of a few remaining members of Shie Hassaikai who quickly transported him to a nearby medical centre that was often frequented by members of the Yakuza. They saved his life but he was far from grateful, at the time he would have preferred to be dead than in that state. His opinion changed with time as his injuries grew less painful. It wasn’t just his arms that were devastated that day, the fight with that Deku brat also did extensive internal damage. A few ribs were broken, his jaw was dislodged, then there was all the bruising - it took nearly six months for him to get back on his feet without any pain. 

 

The loss of his arms was the hardest thing to come to terms with, even more so than the loss of his Quirk. They had been dismembered just below the elbow, leaving his heavily tattooed biceps and neatly stitched, curved stumps. At first life was difficult, to say the least. Phantom fingers would itch to feel the surface of something, anything, hell he’d even shove his hand into filth if it meant he could feel it. As time passed he grew more confident, more independent and then he received word of a solution to some of the more difficult problems. The Engineer was an old acquaintance of the boss, apparently they’d worked together for a number of years while Chisaki was still a child. His Quirk was interesting, he could easily manipulate metal into different forms which he used for the purpose of inventing. He offered Chisaki the chance to regain his full mobility if he would act as a test subject for a new piece he had been working on. Though at first he was wary, the offer proved too appealing to deny and soon he found himself waking up on an operating table with two cold, metal limbs resting beside his hips. When he groggily sat up and started to flex his ‘fingers’ he found they were surprisingly intuitive and moved as easily a real hand. 

 

‘ _ A new technology,’ _ the Engineer had said. ‘ _ The metal has been fused with your body. You may as well consider it part of your very flesh.’ _

 

There were obvious differences despite how natural the new limbs felt. The area where metal met muscle wasn’t very attractive, the stitching was rather crude and unsightly, so he kept the areas covered with a thin section of bandage. He still couldn’t  _ feel  _ exactly. The sensors on the fingers sent various signals up his arm but it wasn’t quite the same. It didn’t bother him too much, he was just thankful to have his arms back. One of the upsides was that they were very easy to keep clean, though he still pulled on a pair of medical gloves out of habit. 

 

For a while Chisaki considered staying in Musutafu but eventually decided against it. There were too many people out there still looking for him, too many familiar faces passing in the streets. He had the best possible outcome considering he had failed his mission - he was alive, he was sort-of in one piece, he was free. Thankfully he still had a few underground contacts and after putting out some feelers, he had a response from a Yakuza group based in Shinjuku. The boss was a friend of the recently deceased head of the Shie Hassaikai, so he was quick to assist Chisaki with the offer of a job and soon he was on the train to a new city, leaving everything behind but a single suitcase.

 

The Awakusu-Kai are one of the few Yakuza sections hiding in plain sight, concealed by the veneer of a high-scale art gallery. It seems obvious to Chisaki but if it’s enough to fool the local heroes then there will be no complaints from him. Their offices are situated in an expensive neighbourhood, in a plush manor house by a large park. Dougan Awakusu offered him temporary lodgings in a spare apartment closer to the centre of Shinjuku until he decided on a more suitable home. It was small, simple but tidy and clean so it would do for the time being. For the past week he’d been spending time with the Awakusu’s Executives, learning about their work, their clients and the oddities of the local area. Some of the stories they were spouting sounded like utter nonsense but they spoke with such earnesty that it sparked interest in the younger man. Shiki, the chief Executive, advised that he visit a nearby contact if he had any questions about the city. 

 

‘ _ Our information broker, he knows more about this city and its people than anyone else. If you want to know more about all the weirdness around here, you’re best off speaking to him. He probably caused most of it,’  _ Shiki had told him. He distinctly remembers the way the older man wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘ _ Bit of advice - he’s loyal to nothing but his own interests. It’s best to keep him on a tight leash. _ ’

 

Chisaki’s snapped from his thoughts by the sound of the woman’s mug slamming back down against the table. He blinks a few times to bring himself from his haze and coughs lightly. She looks up at him and purses her lips. 

 

“Sorry,” she mutters, coldly. An unattractive scowl appears on her face when she glances down at her watch. “He’s  _ late _ . Pathetic, useless man.”

 

The Yakuza member furrows his brows in confusion. If one of his subordinates spoke about him in this regard he would have blown their guts onto the ceiling. Perhaps she doesn’t work for him? Curiosity gets the better of him, so he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Are you his gir-?”

 

“Absolutely not,” the woman snaps, narrowing her eyes. “I’m his secretary. His  _ unwilling  _ secretary.”

 

Her harsh tone takes him aback and his mouth falls open behind the medical mask. It’s been a long time since anyone has spoken to him in such a manner. But this is a different city, a different time and the cold metal he’s resting his chin on reminds him that he’s not the boss anymore. It irritates him but he decides to keep quiet rather than cause a scene. For all he knows this woman has a Quirk of her own that could tear him to shreds. She seems to sense his annoyance and sighs, leaning back in her chair. 

 

“Apologies, I don’t mean to snap at you,” she says, flicking a hand aimlessly in the air. “He has been driving me insane all week because he didn’t want to leave the house and the one time he actually needs to be here, he’s not.”

 

“I see,” Chisaki replies, still rather confused by her rambling. “I take it you and Mr- uh?”

 

The woman wrinkles her nose in the same manner as Shiki did. “Orihara.”

 

“Mr Orihara, thank you. I take it you two don’t get along?” he asks, raising a brow. “I’m sorry I forgot to ask for your name also.”

 

“Namie,” she answers. The anger in her voice has lessened slightly but he can tell her guard is still firmly in place. “Namie Yagiri.”

 

Chisaki’s eyes widen in surprise. “Of Yagiri Pharmaceuticals?” 

 

Namie laughs harshly and the fire returns to her eyes. “Formerly, yes. You know the company?”

 

He wonders if he should be mentioning his dealings with Yagiri Pharma to a total stranger but the fact she’s a  _ former _ employee who now works for the Yakuza’s information broker implies that she’s not a savoury character. He’ll tread carefully nonetheless, the dealings weren’t exactly legal. 

 

“We were looking to develop a particular serum, Yagiri Pharma happened to be open to the type of research we were conducting,” Chisaki explains, being deliberately evasive. 

 

“I see,” she replies, a knowing smirk pulling at one corner of her mouth. “Well, I’m glad they could help. It’s been a long time since I-” The woman swallows thickly and the smile dissipates into an expression of misery. Chisaki recognises it from the bathroom mirror - it’s the look of someone who has failed themselves, someone who has lost everything. “No matter. Would you like some tea or coffee Mr Chisaki? I’ve no idea where that idiot is.”

 

He shakes his head and raises a hand in response. “That’s quite alright, I would not want to trouble you.”

 

Namie rolls her eyes and stands up gracefully. “It’s no trouble. We’ve also got cold drinks, spirits, wine.”

 

“Will that be okay with Mr Orihara?”

 

“ _ Mr  _ Orihara can shove it up his ass for all I care.”

 

He’s starting to appreciate her hateful tone, it’s rather amusing. 

 

“Wine, would be great,” he answers with a smile. It’s supposed to be a charming look, but then he remembers that he’s got a mask covering his face and was therefore pointless. The smile turns to a scowl aimed at his own stupidity as Namie moves across the room to a polished wooden cabinet against the wall near the television. As she sets about preparing a glass of red for each of them, Chisaki lets his gaze wander over her body. There’s no obvious sign of a Quirk, perhaps she’s one of the pure, undiseased ones. He can’t stop himself from asking. “Do you have a Quirk?” 

 

The woman turns back to him, glass in each hand and moves across the room to sit in the armchair beside the sofa. She holds out the wine, which he takes carefully, trying not to crack the glass with the firm grip of his metal fingers. Namie stares at his hand for a moment, then back at his face. If she finds them repugnant it doesn’t appear on her face. 

 

“Yes,” she says, pausing to take a sip of her drink. “I don’t use it that much anymore.”

 

Chisaki follows her action and swallows a large gulp of wine. So she is  _ diseased _ . “Is it rude to ask what it is?”

 

“A little, but no mind,” Namie replies, placing the glass onto the coffee table between them. She taps her throat with her forefinger. “My blood is poisonous. Even half a drop could kill you. Not particularly useful.”

 

The Yakuza member hums under his breath. “I suppose not.”

 

A dark smile grows on her face. “Then again, it does make murder a little easier. All I need to do is prick my finger and let a drop fall into someone’s drink to see them writhing on the floor in agony.” Chisaki chokes on the sip of wine he’s taking and spits the liquid messily back into the glass. Namie laughs highly and waves a hand at him. “I didn’t poison you, don’t worry.”

 

The man grits his teeth together in annoyance and reaches into his jacket pocket for the handkerchief he keeps there. The  _ balls  _ on this woman were impressive but his patience was starting to wear thin. It’s already eight in the evening, he’s hungry and he’s been waiting for over an hour for the information broker so far. He gently pats the errant droplets of wine from his chin and tucks the material back into his pocket, making note to throw it away as soon as he can find a bin. 

 

“I take it you have a Quirk,” Namie continues, reclining against the cushions of the armchair. “Since you enquired about mine.” 

 

“I-” he pauses, drawing in a breath to calm himself. Unconsciously he tightens the grip of his free hand around his thigh. “Not anymore.”

 

Namie raises a brow and her gaze dips momentarily to his hand. “Huh, you’re another one of those?”

 

“Another?” he repeats, blankly. He knew there were ways to get rid of a Quirk, he’d created one, but how could this woman know about that? “What do you mean?”

 

“Your arms,” she says, holding up her right hand. “I know someone else who lost the source of their Quirk. That freak doctor friend of Izaya’s found a way to get the power channelled to another part of the body, which seemed to help matters.”

 

Chisaki’s stomach twists uncomfortably and his heart starts to race. Someone restored their power? “Who? W-what are you talking about?”

 

Namie purses her lips. “Ask Izaya, I try not to associate with that weirdo if I can help it.”

 

A surge of anger burns in his chest as he watches her continue to nonchalantly drain her glass. If she knows something or someone who can restore his power then he could reassemble his arms, he could get revenge on that piece of shit  _ Tomura Shigaraki _ . He places his glass down and opens his mouth to turn the conversation in a more threatening direction but is interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut in another part of the penthouse. 

 

Namie grunts irritably and stands, moving back to her desk with wine in hand. “Finally!”

 

A nasty chuckle comes from the corridor that leads to the front door. Chisaki stills as he hears light footsteps heading toward them and watches silently as a dark-haired young man skips into the main room. The man looks to be around his age, perhaps a couple of years younger. He’s wearing all black, save for the few strips of beige fur that lines the cuffs and hood of his jacket. There’s a wide, amused smile on his face which is strange considering the state of his body at present. His bottom lip is split and there’s dried blood splattered down his chin. A large purple bruise circles his neck, clearly someone has been trying to choke the life out of him. It looks like he put up a fight, if the bloody knife in his hand is anything to go by. Chisaki wrinkles his nose in disgust. Blood aside, the man is  _ filthy _ , he looks like he’s been dragged through a trash heap. Surely this isn’t the information broker Shiki was talking about? The man crosses the room to sit on the edge of the secretary’s desk. 

 

“Did you miss me?” he laughs, reaching out to ruffle his hair. The woman growls under her breath and her hand darts out from beneath the desk. He catches her wrist deftly and tuts under his breath when he notices she’s holding a fountain pen like a knife. “Not the nicest ‘welcome home’ but I suppose it’s better than before. At least this is just a pen.”

 

Namie hisses at him and snatches her wrist back. “Go fuck yourself, Izaya.”

 

“Oh don’t be like that. C’mon I’ll get us takeawa- oh!” the man named Izaya exclaims as he turns and notices the other man sitting on the sofa. “Why hello there. And who might this be?”

 

“Your appointment this evening,” Namie informs him, scathingly. “The Awakusu’s new member - or did you forget?”

 

Izaya’s grin widens as his gaze wanders over the Yakuza member. There’s an odd look in his eyes, something that Chisaki can’t quite place but is strangely similar to greedy. “I see. Apologies for my tardiness. I’m afraid I was running away from a monster.”

 

Chisaki raises a brow as the informant sits opposite him, folding his legs gracefully over one another. Izaya drops the bloody knife onto the glass coffee table and gives a dramatic sigh. A few spots of blood flick across the surface onto the floor near Chisaki’s feet, making him flinch back. Another chuckle sounds low in Izaya’s chest as the two men lock eyes. The informant swipes his tongue over the bloody tear in his lip. 

 

“So, what was it that you wanted to ask me?”

 


	2. Inconsistency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos - it's so appreciated! I hope you enjoy this next chapter (another of Chisaki and Izaya meeting). The next will include a lot more characters and in the future we'll introduced more of the BNHA Heroes/Villains. I've got the plot all planned out so should be fun. :) 
> 
> Please let me know if you have any cool ideas for some of the DRRR!!! character Quirks - there are lots to think of and I'd be super pleased with any suggestions!

One of the first things Chisaki notes about Izaya Orihara is that he is devastatingly enamoured with the sound of his own voice. He’s been yammering non-stop for twenty minutes now, gushing about the city and various moments in its recent history. From what Chisaki can gather there is some sort of gang war going on between three different factions and despite the young age of the participants, it does seem to be rather serious. When he asks who are the heroes and who are the villains, Izaya just laughs and waves a hand carelessly in the air.  _ ‘Psshaw! Ikebukuro doesn’t care for such labels. Good, bad - it’s really up to one’s own discretion’ _ . 

 

Chisaki zones out soon after this comment, lids drooping over his eyes in an obvious look of boredom. At some point he shifts his gaze over to the information broker’s secretary, who is still sitting behind her desk. Namie catches his look and rolls her eyes as if to say  _ he won’t shut up _ . He smirks slightly behind his mask as she continues to scowl intensely at the back of Izaya’s head. She really is a rather amusing woman. 

 

“And then there’s the head!” 

 

Chisaki’s focus returns at the sound of Izaya’s loud exclamation. “The head?”

 

“Namie could you get the Dullahan’s head for me?” Izaya asks, turning to face her. He flashes a wide grin that has absolutely zero effect on her. 

 

The woman scoffs and looks down at her laptop. “Get it yourself.”

 

Izaya’s smile falters, only a second but Chisaki catches it regardless. The secretary and boss meet one another’s gaze and there’s a moment of tension that sends a visible shiver down Namie’s spine. 

 

“Do I have to say  _ please _ ?” he replies. There’s an obvious threat beneath the question and it surprises Chisaki to see Namie’s eyes widen a touch. With a sigh she gets to her feet and storms out of the room, shoes clacking loudly against the wooden floor. Izaya hums under his breath and turns his attention back to the man sitting opposite him. “She can be such a pain but she loves me really.”

 

He raises a brow. “So you two are-?”

 

“Goodness no. I think Namie would rather cut her own arms off,” the information broker laughs highly, shaking his head. Chisaki twitches in annoyance at the clearly directed barb. He swallows thickly, trying to contain himself before he lashes out and punches this idiot in the face. Izaya grins lazily and throws an arm across the back of the sofa. “My apologies, no harm intended.”

 

Chisaki stares stonily at him and goes to speak but is interrupted by the reappearance of Namie. She stomps across the office space and shoves a large glass jar into Izaya’s awaiting hands. With a huff, she folds her arms across her chest and glowers at the informant below her. It’s a look that would terrify even the hardiest of heroes but Izaya barely bats an eyelid. 

 

“We had a deal,” she seethes, cheeks flushing pink. “You said you wouldn’t do that to me.”

 

“I didn’t. Do calm down, Namie. You’re making a scene in front of our guest.”

 

Namie growls under her breath and strides back to her desk. She starts gathering her belongings and swiftly pulls a coat over her shoulders. “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Have a  _ lovely  _ evening,” Izaya calls as she crosses the room to the hallway. 

 

Chisaki raises a hand when she turns back to look at him. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Yagiri.”

 

“Have a good evening,” she replies, nodding curtly. A small smile appears on her face. “See you around.”

 

The Yakuza member smiles vaguely as she leaves the house, hoping that perhaps he will see her again in the future. The feeling startles him somewhat, Chisaki has never been a hit with women, or men for that matter. The last time someone tried to kiss him they ended up smeared across the walls as a bloody pulp. His fear of germs means that he’s keen to keep his distance from others, even the thought of skin-to-skin contact makes him want to be sick. 

 

Izaya places the jar onto the table between them and taps lightly on the glass. “This is my beautiful head. Isn’t she pretty?”

 

The container is filled with a clear liquid that looks too thick to be water. Settled in this gel-like substance is the severed head of a young woman. The pallor of the skin and vibrant ginger hair suggests that this head comes from outside of Japan, he would guess European. The way the head has been severed is strange, the wound is perfectly straight and incredibly clean. It looks like the work of an experienced surgeon or a guillotine. At first he is simply mesmerised by the bizarre sight before him, then what he is actually looking at sinks in. Chisaki wrinkles his nose in disgust and leans back, turning his gaze up to look at Izaya. This man keeps a head in a jar in his house. Not only that but he proudly shows it off like a trinket. Disgusting. 

 

“Whose head is this?” Chisaki asks, at a loss for what else to say. 

 

“Ah, this is the head of our city’s resident Dullahan, our headless rider - Celty,” Izaya replies, peering down into the jar. “A type of fairy from Ireland. They carry their heads under their arm as they ride through the streets. When they stop, a person is due to die. The Dullahan speaks that person’s name and they will immediately perish. Quite the power, huh?”

 

Chisaki frowns - this is the head of a  _ fairy _ ? It looks human enough to him. “Is that a Quirk?”

 

“No, no. Even if a Quirk changes one’s form, you are still human. Celty is different, she was never human. There are a few monsters around our city,” Izaya says. His amused expression falls and is replaced by an annoyed scowl. “There’s that cursed blade, that Hijiribe girl, Shizu-chan. Although I’m still not really sure it he actually has a Quirk or if he’s just a fre-”

 

“Excuse my interruption but this is all rather confusing,” Chisaki comments, lacing his fingers together. “Why are you showing me this- this head?”

 

Izaya hums thoughtfully and looks the other man up and down. Chisaki shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze, feeling rather on the spot from the sudden intensity. The informant leans forward and rests his chin on the top of his steepled fingers. 

 

“I have a feeling that you will be important in the coming months,” he states, gaze moving down to look at the game board resting in the centre of the coffee table. It’s a mish-mash of games, there’s chess pieces, Go, Othello, draughts - Chisaki can’t see any sense to their placement but clearly Izaya does. “I feel it is important to be honest with those I intend to work closely with.”

 

“And what makes you assume that I want to work closely with you?” Chisaki asks, furrowing his brow. 

 

Izaya leans back, a knowing smile growing on his lips. “I make a point of getting to know my clients rather well. So, when Shiki informed me that the Awakusu was going to be employing a new executive I took a look into your life. What I found piqued my interest. I think we can be mutually useful to one another.”

 

“How?”

 

“I have a friend who may be able to help you with your ‘little problem’,” Izaya chuckles, holding up his hands and shaking them excitedly. The Yakuza member grits his teeth together in irritation but keeps his mouth shut so he can hear the other man out. “He assisted another associate of mine, Ran, after he was set on fire. His Quirk stems from his right eye and this was affected by the flames, half-blinding him and negating his power. Shinra’s always had the idea that Quirks are more malleable in nature than meets the eye, so he worked with Ran and they managed to transfer the power of his Quirk to his left eye instead. Rather clever, isn’t it?”

 

Chisaki swallows down the nervous lump in his throat. “How?”

 

“Beats me, I’m no scientist,” Izaya shrugs. “But it seems logical that a Quirk would be more than just skin deep. Just because the way of getting it out has gone doesn’t mean that the power has disappeared. It’s just dormant.”

 

“Who is this scientist? Can I meet him?” Chisaki asks, a little too quickly. He pauses and sits back to try and calm himself down. “I would like to speak to him.”

 

Izaya hums again and Chisaki finds the noise is getting on his nerves. “Of course. As I said, we can be useful to one another. Out of interest, do you intend to ask him to restore your Quirk because you want to reassemble your arms or do you just miss the power? Don’t you think Quirks are disgusting?”

 

The question feels like a punch to the gut and it’s the trigger that finally causes him to snap. Since losing his injuries he’s started to carry a weapon, just in case he happens to come across an enemy in the street. He slides the gun from his inner pocket and holds it loosely in his lap, a clear threat to the still-grinning information broker. How  _ dare  _ he ask such things? How dare he poke around in his life in such a manner? If it weren’t for the Awakusu’s reliance on this man for information he would have shot him after the first five minutes. Of  _ course  _ he hates Quirks, he hates that filthy Hero Syndrome that society has forced upon the world. His intention is to cleanse the world of this disease but he’s well aware that he cannot accomplish this without the destructive power of Overhaul. He’s needs to be the prosopopeia of devastation to tear down the heroes and make people  _ see _ how disgusting their society is. If that means infecting himself, then so be it. 

 

“That’s a little personal, Mr Orihara. I don’t appreciate it.”

 

Izaya raises his hands in faux innocence. “I apologise, sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me.”

 

Chisaki tightens his grip on the gun, metal scraping loudly against metal. “That shit could get you killed.”

 

The information broker chuckles, so relaxed at gunpoint that Chisaki wonders if he’s insane. “I’d rather not die tonight. Put the gun away.”

 

“Excuse me?” he replies, irritably. “I’m the one holding the g-”

 

“ _ Please _ .” 

 

Chisaki twitches and any anger he felt dissipates. He feels strange, almost as if a sudden fog has descended around him. The atmosphere grows heavy and a rich, heady odour fills his nose. Izaya’s voice seems to be the only thing he’s able to focus on, his Cheshire--wide grin is the only thing he can see through the blur of colours. The informant doesn’t move but Chisaki can hear his voice as clear as day.  _ Put the gun on the table, please.  _ His body moves forward on its own and his fingers go slack around the handgun. As soon as it drops onto the table the fog lifts and Chisaki draws in a shaky breath as he comes to his senses. 

 

“What was that?” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest to feel his his throbbing heartbeat. “What did you just do to me?”

 

“My unfortunate Quirk,” Izaya replies, rubbing a thumb against his right temple. “Persuasion, but only if I say please.”

 

The Yakuza member glares angrily at the other man, infuriated that he would dare to use such a trick on him. “Brainwashing?”

 

Izaya shakes his head. “Not exactly. I can rid your mind of any other thought that the directions I give. I don’t use it often, it makes my head hurt. Besides, I prefer to see what humans do without my direct influence. It would get so boring if everyone simply followed orders, don’t you think?”

 

_ No _ , Chisaki thinks. 

 

“It comes in handy every now and then,” Izaya continues, dropping his hand back into his lap. “When people are threatening to kill me, for example.”

 

“Yes, I can imagine,” Chisaki says, coldly. He checks the large clock on the wall above the fireplace behind Izaya and draws in a short breath. “It is getting late. Perhaps we should continue this another time.”

 

Izaya nods and swiftly stands up from his seat. “That sounds sensible. I have some files you may wish to read to bring yourself up to date on the city’s goings-on. The Dollars, Blue Squares, Yellow Scarves, figures of interest and so on.”

 

Chisaki gets to his feet, tucking the handgun back inside his jacket and waits patiently as Izaya rifles through his filing cabinets for the relevant material. “I still wish to speak to your friend. May I have his information?”

 

It’s phrased like a question but is very much the opposite. The informant smirks as he crosses the room and hands the other man a stuffed manilla folder. Chisaki takes one edge in his hand but Izaya doesn’t let go. His rust-coloured eyes trace over Chisaki’s face for long enough to make him feel uneasy so he tugs harder on the folder and Izaya’s grip gives way. 

 

“In time,” Izaya says, slyly. “We should agree on our mutual terms first, yes?”

 

“What is it you want from me?” Chisaki asks. He should have expected this sort of behaviour from an informant but it pisses him off nonetheless. “Money, contacts, what?”

 

Izaya shakes his head and moves past Chisaki so that he can sit back down on the sofa. He pulls the glass jar containing the head closer and cradles it gently in his hands. The way he looks at the gruesome specimen is bizarrely tender, like he is looking at a lover. 

 

“You have a couple of those bullets left, don’t you? The  _ special  _ ones. I must commend you for being so clever, by the way,” he says, smiling fondly at the head. Chisaki doesn’t answer him. It seems too early to tell him, he’ll wait to see if his friend is as brilliant as he says before confirming anything. The small box containing two bullets sits heavy in the pocket of his jacket. He refuses to leave them at home, even in a safe. “Well, I’d like someone shot. Someone I despise, he’s such a nuisance. I want to kill him but his power is so immense that I can’t seem to do it at present. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve stabbed him or tried to have him hit by thugs. It would be funny if it didn’t aggravate me so much.”

 

For this man to call someone else a nuisance it must be serious, Chisaki thinks. Izaya lowers the jar and glances up at the Yakuza member, a bright smile appearing on his face. 

 

“If you can get rid of his Quirk then I’ve a much better chance of saying ‘sayonara’ for good, see!” 

 

“What sort of Quirk is it?” Chisaki asks, tucking the file beneath his arm. 

 

Izaya springs to his feet and vaults the back of the sofa so that he’s standing close in front of the other man. In response Chisaki takes a step back, distressed by the proximity. “You know it’ll be so much easier if I just show you. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

 

Chisaki takes another step back and nods when he feels the slight panic ebb away. “Yes, I believe so.”

 

“Excellent, excellent!” Izaya laughs, clapping his hands together. “Russia Sushi, Ikebukuro, twelve o’clock. That’ll be the perfect time. You can find it via an online map, right?”

 

“Sure.”

 

The informant hums and holds out a hand. His eyes narrow and his grin slides wider as he notices the other man’s hesitation to return the handshake. Chisaki can see a number of open cuts and scrapes on his fingers, then there’s the dirt and the dried blood. His head starts spinning and he can taste bile in the back of his throat. It’s been like this since he was a child, when he was waist deep in scum and dirt before he was pulled from it by the boss of the Shie Hassakai. He can feel the dust in the room hit the back of his throat, he can smell the grime on Izaya’s shoes - it’s  _ sickening.  _ But self control is one of Chisaki’s better qualities, so he simply takes a step back, breathes out and shakes his head curtly. 

 

“I would rather not, if you don’t mind,” he says, trying to keep his voice casual and even. “I’m sensitive to dirt.”

 

“And yet you came to Ikebukuro,” Izaya replies, sliding his hand into his pocket. He chooses not to explain his comment and turns on one heel, raising a hand in farewell. “See you tomorrow, Overhaul.”

 

Chisaki slams the door on the way out. It creaks loudly and he wonders how many people have stormed their way out of this arrogant prick’s apartment and when the door will finally fall off its hinges.

  
  
  



	3. Opposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of character introductions and plot set up to do here! We'll be seeing some more BNHA characters in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy.

In the city of Ikebukuro, a man with dreadlocks and another dressed as a bartender walk through the streets, on their way to a bar. 

 

“You got a lighter?” 

 

“Yeah, sure. Here you go.”

 

Shizuo nods at his boss and takes the lighter from his outstretched hand. “Cheers, Tom.”

 

“Any time big guy.”

 

The blond gives him a smile and swiftly lights the cigarette in his mouth before handing the lighter back to him. They walk the streets in peaceful silence, both comfortable simply in the presence of one another. They’ve been friends for years, ever since middle school when Tom suggested that Shizuo bleach his hair to make himself stand out a little more. It worked, though not quite in the way Tom imagined. He hoped that people would recognise Shizuo Heiwajima and therefore leave him alone, he didn’t predict that they would flock to him in droves looking for a fight. Those first few years were hard but Shizuo stuck with it and eventually the thugs started to stay away. The blond is happy with the relative peace this change brought but he often finds it difficult to ignore the way normal people avoid him too. Mothers drag their children to the other side of the road, men whisper behind their hands with wary looks in their eyes. He hears the names they call him -  _ monster, freak, villain _ \- and it makes his stomach twist uneasily. 

 

Shizuo has always wanted a peaceful life, which is why he chooses to keep his incredible strength under wraps as best he can. His violent temper doesn’t help matters but he just can’t seem to stop the heat of anger erupting from inside when pushed too far. Unfortunately, he’s pushed ‘too far’ almost every day thanks to the presence of a bloodsucking little shitbag who has decided to devote his life to making Shizuo’s utterly awful. Just the thought of Orihara makes him bristle. 

 

“You okay?” Tom asks, raising an eyebrow. There’s a low rumble coming from the blond’s chest, a sound that often occurs before he’s about to explode. He quickly surveys the area around them, looking for a familiar flash of fur. 

 

“Yeah,” he answers, gruffly. He draws in a sharp breath of smoke to try and calm himself down. “I’ve been smellin’ that fleabag all over the city recently. He’s up to something.”

 

Tom sighs and slides his hands into his pockets. The two foes have been at one another’s throats since the moment they met and time hasn’t lessened the hatred they feel, in fact it seems to have only intensified. It’s troublesome, both for the citizens and infrastructure of the city. Tom tries his best to keep Shizuo calm but more often than not he’s unable to keep him from tearing after the laughing information broker, screaming his name. Izaya is quite the match for Shizuo, an impressive feat considering his impressive strength and durability. The informant is faster and smarter, Shizuo has never been able to keep up in that regard. If only he could get his hands on the smaller man, then he could use his strength to his advantage and tear Izaya’s arms off.

 

“You think so?” Tom asks. They stop outside a bar they often frequent and head inside. Shizuo breathes a sigh, comforted by the familiarity of the dim lights and sweet, smoky atmosphere. 

 

“I know so,” he replies, as they approach the counter. “He’s always up to something. I know Izaya better than anyone and - _ ugh _ , even saying that makes me pissed off.”

 

The bartender raises his hand in greeting and grabs a couple of glasses from beneath the bar. “Pint of Asahi and a rum ‘n coke?”

 

Tom grins and removes his wallet from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Are we that predictable?”

 

“Nah,” the bartender chuckles, resting a glass beneath the running beer draught tap so that he can swiftly mix the spirit. “Just familiar faces is all. Blondie’s pretty famous round these parts.”

 

Shizuo pulls a face and looks down at the floor. “I ain’t famous.”

 

“No harm intended. You’re just pretty recognisable. You want ice?” the bartender asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

The barman smiles and switches off the beer tap before shoving his hand into a bowl of water that is resting on the counter. He squeezes his fist closed and a thin layer of frost appears across his skin. When he opens his hand the two men see three pieces of ice settled on his palm, each carved into the delicate shape of a flower. 

 

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Tom comments. Shizuo nods in agreement as the barman slips the flowers into the glass of rum and coke. “You could become a pro hero with a Quirk like that.”

 

The bartender laughs and shakes his head as he hands them their drinks. “I can only freeze the water I have in my hands, so it’s not that powerful.”

 

“S’pretty cool,” Shizuo says, peering down into the glass. The flowers bob gently on the surface of the liquid, now turned back by the colour of the cola. “I’d love to have a Quirk like that.”

 

“I’m sure many people would like to have your super-strength!” he answers, wiping the frost off his hand. “First one’s on the house, gents.”

 

They thank the bartender and move around to their usual table, one hidden out of sight in a dim corner of the next room. It’s quieter in this part of the bar and thanks to the high-backs of the booth Shizuo can drink in peace without being recognised. 

 

“Do you really think people want to be strong like this?” Shizuo asks, flexing his hand. He takes a sip of his drink and sets it back on the table, looking thoughtfully at the shrinking ice flowers. “I certainly don’t. Causes nothin’ but hassle.”

 

Tom shrugs. “I dunno man. People want what they don’t have.”

 

“I guess,” he replies, rolling his head to the side to rest his cheek atop his fist. “I don’t really know what to do with it. I have all this strength but I only use it for intimidating our debtors and tryin’ to beat the shit outta Izaya.”

 

“You could become a hero? I bet you could get a license without even breaking a sweat,” Tom suggests. He can see that Shizuo’s fingers are twitching around the glass he’s hold, so he reaches into his pocket a retrieves the lighter and passes it across the table. He always gets twitchy when he’s craving a smoke. “Here you go.”

 

“Cheers,” Shizuo replies, with a smile. He fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and sparks up, dragging an ashtray closer to his side of the table. “I don’t think the heroes would let me in. I’m not exactly a good guy.”

 

Tom shakes his head. “You’re a good guy Shizuo, trust me.”

 

The blond takes a drag of his cigarette and grunts half-heartedly in response. “My temper is too volatile. I’d snap and end up hurting a bunch of civilians or something. Besides I can’t be bothered with the hassle.” 

 

“Fair enough,” he replies, taking a large gulp of his beer. “Out of interest when did your Quirk appear?”

 

“Don’t remember,” Shizuo answers, furrowing his brows. “Y’know I think I’ve always been like this.”

 

Tom grins at the perplexed look on the other man’s face. “Perhaps you don’t have a Quirk at all, maybe you’re just weird.”

 

“Shut your mouth, jackass.”

 

“Hehe.”

 

The night passes pleasantly, a few more drinks come and go before Shizuo finally calls it a night and starts the short walk home. It’s around eleven thirty so the streets are fairly empty, there’s just a few crowds of people stood outside the busier bars and clubs. He keeps his head down, cigarette in mouth, trying his best to blend into the night. The city still stinks of Izaya, it’s disgusting. He wrinkles his nose and clenches a fist at his side, the thought of the informant’s vile smirk clear in his mind. Their last meeting had been infuriating. It began as usual - war-cry, concrete flying as street-signs are ripped from the ground, flashes of metal. He had gotten so close,  _ so close _ to catching the bloodsucking little flea. It was only when Shizuo grabbed hold of Izaya’s arm that he turned and grabbed ahold of the larger man’s shirt. The sudden contact startled Shizuo enough to slow him down and that slight pause was all Izaya needed to crush their mouths together. 

 

It didn’t last not long enough for Shizuo to shove him off or consider returning the kiss, only seconds later the warmth of Izaya’s body was gone and he was left standing alone in a darkened alley. He remained there for a while, fingers gently touching his bottom lip as his heart pounded excessively hard against his chest. The fact that his first reaction wasn’t anger surprised him and the more he has thought about it over the last few days, the more it worries him. What on Earth had possessed Izaya to do that? Why did it feel oddly pleasant? He lets out an aggravated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. It was probably just another taunt, another way to piss him off, or perhaps Izaya knew how close he was to being caught and simply needed a way of escaping. 

 

His thoughts are interrupted when someone bashes hard into his shoulder and falls back onto the floor. At first he’s overwhelmed by the stench of Izaya and he growls down at the person, convinced it’s the conniving little shit. Shizuo immediately grabs ahold of the collar of the fallen man’s so he can pull him onto his feet. Ah - it’s not Izaya. 

 

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 

The man raises his head and Shizuo notices there’s a black medical mask covering his nose and mouth. He’s glaring furiously at the blond and quickly pushes against his chest to force him away. Shizuo scowls in return and bats his arms away. He’s surprised to find that the limb he hits is not flesh but cold and hard and when he glances down he sees that the man’s forearms are made entirely of metal. The action causes Shizuo’s cigarette to fall from his mouth to the floor, casting a trail of ash into the air. 

 

“I was just tryin’ to help you up,” Shizuo barks, annoyed. The man is staring blankly at the uncovered part of his forearms, the part that Shizuo touched, then he glances up and makes an unpleasant hissing sound. 

 

“Do you know how  _ disgusting  _ smoking is?” the man hisses. He raises his arm and points to a few flakes of ash that have settled on the metal there. “ If this had been my bare skin do you know how many-”

 

Shizuo growls under his breath and takes a step forward, drawing himself up to his full height to try and intimidate the strange man. He doesn’t react at all, he simply continues glowering up at him. “Shut up, it’s just a bit of ash.”

 

“Your insides are probably filthy. Your lungs will be all rotten and disgusting and diseased,” the man rambles, eyes bulging wildly. Shizuo’s scowl darkens and he takes a step forward to grab ahold of the man’s shirt collar. He doesn’t expect the high-pitched shriek that the man lets out, nor the sharp pain of metal fingers digging into his wrist. “Don’t touch me!”

 

“Stop fucking- ow!” Shizuo grunts. The metal fingertips pierce into his skin, he feels the familiar feeling of warmth sliding down his arm. Now thoroughly riled up, he shoves the man back into the wall of a nearby building. He hisses upon impact and throws a punch at Shizuo’s face. The metal knuckles crunch against his cheekbone and the skin there bursts open from the force. It startles Shizuo enough to make him drop the man and take a few steps back, hand coming to touch the open wound on his face. He grimaces at the sight of blood staining his fingers and starts to grind his teeth together in anger. When he looks back up from his hand, the man has vanished. It was a good thing in the long run, he really didn’t want to get into a fight this evening. Shizuo grunts in annoyance and stomps off in the direction of his home. The stench of Izaya still permeates his nose and makes him wonder why that man smelt so intensely of him. 

  
  


-0- 

  
  


“Coffee.”

 

Izaya looks up from the document he’s reading and flashes his secretary a cheery grin. The look is returned with a scowl and the swift slamming of the mug on the desk. “Thank you, Namie dearest.”

 

“I poisoned it,” she states, blankly. 

 

“You say that every morning.”

 

She folds her arms across her chest and looks down at him with disdain. “One of these days it’ll be true.”

 

The information broker chuckles under his breath and takes the mug between his cupped palms without any noticeable hesitation. “We both know your sense of self preservation is too great to get rid of me. If the world found out it was you stealing people from the streets to use as test subjects I don’t doubt they would tear you limb from limb.”

 

It’s a threat she hears almost every day but it’s not lost its impact. Stuck in the palm of Izaya’s hand - it was an embarrassing and infuriating position but there was little she could do to at present. One day the situation will change and running a knife into his smug face will undoubtedly be the first thing she’ll do. But for now, such fantasties will have to remain in her head. With a sigh she turns away from him and seats herself behind her desk. They both continue working in silence for a little while, until Namie finally raises her head and looks over at him. 

 

“What’s going on with that Chisaki guy?” she asks, curiously. “You let him see the Dullahan’s head - why?”

 

Izaya ceases his typing and leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers together over his stomach. “He has something I want - a way to kill Shizu-chan. I have something he wants. It’s necessary to build trust with someone like him.”

 

“Yakuza?”

 

“Mmhm. And not only that, also the boss of a rather formidable group of villains. I’ll send you the files I dug up on him to read,” he explains, opening the relevant data on his laptop. “Plus, if he manages to regain his power he could be a useful ally to have in the future.”

 

Namie purses her lips. “Are you sure you can trust him not to take what he wants and then kill you?”

 

“In my experience members of the Yakuza keep to their morals. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be long before the Awakusu tore him to shreds. I’m too valuable to their organisation,” Izaya continues, smugly. He leans forward and rests his chin against his palm. “You seem interested in him. Were you having a nice little chat before I arrived?”

 

“No, I j-”

 

“Found a replacement for Seiji now he’s off the market?” he asks, sarcastically. “Do send him and Mika my congratulations on their engagement by the way.”

 

The way she visible cringes is very pleasing. Some days he wonders if he stepping too far over the line and maybe she’ll forgo her own safety for the pleasure of killing him. 

 

“Fuck. You,” she spits, cheeks reddening to a pleasant shade of crimson. 

 

“Don’t be embarrassed about having a crush Namie, it’s perfectly natur-“ the stapler from her desk collides with his forehead. “Ow! That hurt!”

 

A vague smirk reappears on Namie’s face as he aggressively rubs the bump on his head. “Good. Now, are you going to answer my questions or be a pain? If the latter, then I’m going to go and make coffee for the next five hours.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Izaya replies, dismissively. He taps a few keys on his laptop and points across the room to her desk. “There, I’ve sent you the file I have on him. Read to your heart’s content.”

 

Namie huffs at the implication, then turns back to face her machine and opens the email Izaya has sent her. It’s a detailed report, it takes at least an hour for her to read the entire thing but by the time she’s finished she believes that she has a good grip on Chisaki’s recent history. With a thoughtful hum she leans back in her seat and glances up at Izaya, who has been silently working at his desk. 

 

“I can see why you think his Quirk will be useful,” Namie says, peering down at her right hand. She imagines what it would be like to be able to change the matter around her, to destroy and rearrange her body at will and wonders if it would be painful. Perhaps she could ask Chisaki the next time they met. “So, I take it your plan is to use these nullifying bullets against your boyfriend, then have him killed?”

 

Izaya pouts at her. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

“You  _ kissed  _ him in the street. We all saw the pictures on the Dollars message board.”

 

“I needed a way to stall him,” Izaya explains, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were clearly heating up. “That was all. It meant nothing, simply tactics.”

 

His secretary snorts and folds her arms across her chest. “You’re obsessed with him. I’m sure you’ve been waiting  _ years  _ to do that. What is it - wanted to get at least a kiss before sending him to Hell?”

 

Izaya scowls at her and turns his gaze back down to his computer. For once he was telling a half-truth. Shizuo had been so close to catching him the other day that he could feel the man’s fingertips brushing his back. He’d never made it to that proximity before and it sparked a genuine fear within the informant. What if Shizuo made good of all his threats and tore his head off? Izaya blamed his sloppy actions on the hangover he had - damn Akabayashi for starting a drinking contest, he couldn’t handle his alcohol at the best of times. Out-running a monster like Shizuo required focus, honed reflexes -  _ not  _ a fuzzy head and nausea. His mind started churning out ideas, striking each of them away until he turned into an alley and felt Shizuo’s fingers clamp around his bicep. What would make Shizuo stop? What would put the brakes on the beast’s murderous rage and give him the chance to slip away? Panic gripped him, so he acted on impulse. 

 

He hasn’t thought too much about his actions since then, the idea of kissing Shizuo is too disgusting to linger on. As usual, he ignores the uncomfortable twisting sensation in his stomach and the strange dreams he’s been having since that day and focuses on his hatred for the monster. Because that’s all he is - a monster. 

 

“Of course not Namie,” he lies, giving her a lazy, dishonest grin. “Though Hell is probably the most fitting place for someone like Shizu-chan. Which is why I intend to make an ally of Kai Chisaki.”

 

Namie rolls her eyes and turns her eyes back down to her laptop. “Your obsession will kill you one day.”

 

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, softly. He spins his chair around so that he can look out at the cityscape below. It’s mid-morning so the city is humming with life. He smiles fondly and rests his head back against his chair. “But not if I kill him first.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
